


Father Jones Drabbles

by jscoutfinch



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Priest!Killian, Priest!kink, captain swan smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5414882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscoutfinch/pseuds/jscoutfinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots and drabbles featuring one Father Killian Jones. Likely most of these arise from the Sin-Day Smut happening on the-priest-killian-network on Tumblr. Ratings are likely to all be E.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was really too blasted cold to be out here tending the garden - but he knew an hour of effort now would be worth it in a little more than a month when he could harvest the kale. He was bundled up in a long dark peacoat with a thick gray scarf around his neck.

“Never was much for kale,” Emma had been watching him work for a few minutes now - enjoying the way his hands expertly worked the dirt - teasing the roots of each plant before gently placing it into the soil. 

He was startled at her sudden appearance and dropped the small plant he’d been holding. 

“I’ve always been more of a grilled cheese and onion ring kinda girl.” She swung her hips as she made her way over to him - knowing full well the good priest had a thing for her and had to be enjoying the view. 

“Miss Swan - you startled me,” he stammered, reaching down to cup the mangled roots of the poor plant he’d dropped before placing it into the row with the others.

He stood up and brushed his hands together, trying to get off some of the dirt - and failing. 

“What can I do for you?” He wasn’t sure what could bring her by in the middle of the day like this - even his most dedicated parishioners didn’t stop by during normal business hours - and Emma was a casual attendee at best (mostly at the urging of her mother.)

“This particular visit is more about what I can do for you.” She said breathily as she closed the distance between them. 

His heart hammered in his chest as his mind raced to try and figure out what she was doing - he’d lusted after this woman since the first moment he’d seen her, but he’d never dared to think she’d have any interest in him. Surely he was dreaming.

He shook his head to try and wake himself as she moved close enough to breath hotly on the chilled shell of his ear and whisper “I’ve wanted you for a long time, Father.”

Shivers ran down his spine - and this time, not from the cold, but rather from the heat of arousal rushing through him at her salacious words. 

“You want me, too. I can tell,” she teased, snaking her hand between them to cup his cock, now straining in the confines of his pants. Her eyes widened as she realized just how big the good Father was. 

“Tsk tsk tsk,” she clicked her tongue while palming him through the thick material - using his coat to cover her movements in case anyone happened to walk by. “Such a waste.”

He gulped at her movements, finally plucking up the courage to speak. 

“What is?” He groaned as he felt her fingers undo his belt buckle.

“All of this” she dipped her hand into his boxers to stroke his bare length as she rolled the final word on her tongue suggestively. “Not being put to good use.”

He was lucky he didn’t come on the spot, hearing her talk like that with his cock in her hand. Emboldened by her obvious desire for him, he decided to play along. 

“Who says I can’t put it to good use?” He smirked up at her and knew his words had the desired effect when her eyes dilated -- the jade reduced to a slim ring, pupils blown wide with arousal. 

“When I want to, I can use it quite well, thank you very much,” he teased, twisting her around in his arms and pushing up to the wall of the rectory - allowing his hands to roam her form, her simple black cotton dress and tights doing little to hide her womanly curves. 

She pushed her hips back into his and he hissed at the contact. 

“Want me to show you, Miss Swan?” He growled. “Would you like to feel every thick inch of me pounding into you right here against this wall?”

He rutted his hips forward with each word, stoking her desire.

“God, yes, Father Jones - please.” She whined - too turned on to worry about who was in control. She hiked up her dress and let him grab the waist of her tights and roughly push them down, sliding his fingers through her soaking folds as he went. 

“So wet for me, Swan. Dirty, dirty girl.” He chuckled as he brought himself to her entrance, filling her with one swift stroke with a grunt. She cried out in pleasure and he immediately brought his hand up to cover her mouth. 

“Shh shh shh, careful there Swan. Wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors - that’d spoil all the fun.” 

All the while he didn’t stop the rocking of his hips - and in mere moments she was shaky on her feet and seeing stars, the delicious drag of him hot and heavy inside of her, stretching her just right - it was the perfect contrast to the cool air swirling around them. 

He pounded away, each stroke feeling deeper than the last, until finally she snapped and tumbled over that golden peak - wave after wave of glorious pleasure crashing over her. He followed with another few stutters of his hips - pulsing his release inside her still spasming walls. 

They both slumped forward into the wall - Killian using his hands to steady himself and keep his coat wrapped around her while she pulled her tights back up and adjusted her dress. Once she was settled he tucked himself back into his pants and pulled the jacket around himself. 

“Well,” he huffed, “That was…. ugh….” He couldn’t find the words. Honestly - he’d thought it was a dream. 

“Definitely not a one-time thing,” Emma was still flushed from her orgasm, and the pink tinge to her cheeks made her look somehow more lovely than ever. “In fact, I think I might like kale after all.”


	2. Holy Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to the radio and heard "River" by Bishop Briggs, and was inspired to revisit Father Jones by one of the lines in the chorus. I bet you can guess which one! 
> 
> Anyway, just a little PWP for you all. Enjoy :)

 

_Shut your mouth, baby stand and deliver_  
_Holy hands, oh they make me a sinner_  
_Like a river, like a river_  
_Shut your mouth and run me like a river_

 

* * *

 

She’d been filling in for Mary Margaret while she was out on maternity leave, and it’s not that Father Jones didn’t appreciate it - it’s that he appreciated it far too much, and in a way that he really shouldn’t.

Emma Swan was a breathtakingly beautiful woman. She’d accompanied her friends to mass a few times, and if he’s being completely honest - that first sermon was incredibly difficult to get through.

He was still a very new priest, and his Bishop had encouraged him to take a post in Storybrooke, claiming a charming little town in Maine would be the perfect place to make his inevitable beginner’s errors without much calamity.

Oh how wrong he’d been.

It was only a few weeks into his tenure when Emma had breezed into the sanctuary - and despite her obvious disease with the setting (she wasn’t much of a “church” person), she was loyal enough to slog through an hour if it would make her friend happy.

Their church was fairly casual, some of the older parishioners still dressed up - but generally speaking people could wear jeans (so long as they were in good repair), and feel quite at home. Even so, the sight of Emma in a pair of form-fitting dark jeans, the crisp white of her tank top peeking out from underneath her red leather jacket had him rethinking their dress code.

She was an absolute vision, golden hair falling in graceful waves against the vibrant material of her jacket, green eyes lit up with laughter at something Mary Margaret had said. And the way the jeans hugged her curves just right, they were like a second skin, and he longed to trace the edges of her long legs - feeling the supple flare of her hips under his fingertips.

Just watching her walk in had caused him to take an extra five minutes to “pray” - which was actually five minutes of standing in his office with his desk fan on full blast, trying to calm himself and force his erection down with sheer willpower.

He bumbled his way through the sermon, blaming the poor execution of his message on the his relative inexperience, rather than the blonde who’d distracted him so thoroughly. There were a few other awkward run-ins at the diner and the like, where he’d turned into a clumsy mess at the mere sight of her, embarrassing himself with his utter lack of grace.

It had been quite a while since a woman had that kind of effect on him. He had always been a flirt in his days before the priesthood, but he was also fiercely loyal - and once he’d decided to pursue this path, he hadn’t indulged those urges even once. There were a few times when he woke up with an erection, but he handled it with some breathing exercises and moved on with his day. But Emma… she had somehow turned those feelings back on like they were on a switch.

As the summer dragged on, and Mary Margaret neared her due date (not to mention the need to return to her regular job as a teacher - after all, she’d only agreed to help out to make the transition easier,) Father Jones found himself without an assistant and completely out of his depth.

Then one day, in walked Mary Margaret, with Emma in tow - offering her up as a veritable sacrifice to help out a few days a week. She’d insisted, despite his immediate protestations.

“Father Jones,” she looked down her nose at him, and he suddenly felt very much like a schoolboy about to be chastised for not completing his homework. “You need the help, and she’s been looking for a way to earn a few extra bucks. Right, Emma?”

He looked to her, assuming he’d find her rolling her eyes, but instead she just looked at him curiously.

“That’s right.” To his surprise, Emma _honestly_ didn’t seem to mind. “I mean, if that’s OK with you. I know I’m not… a regular or anything.”

Mary Margaret and Father Jones both laughed at her statement. _A regular?_ She certainly was out of her element. Emma’s cheeks reddened slightly as they chuckled.

“Apologies, lass. That was poor form of me.” He schooled his expression into a more serious one. “Your assistance would be an absolute Godsend, if you’re willing.”

She smiled at that.

“I am, Father.”

 

* * *

 

He didn’t know what he was thinking by allowing her to work with him. He was clearly infatuated with her, and every single day that she was in the office was a test for him. He felt like a reformed drunkard who’d head down to the pub every night and order a whiskey, just to be close to it - just to hold it. As if that didn’t make it more difficult. It would be so easy to lift that glass just a few inches and tilt it just so...

She would spend her days tidying up the church, answering the stray phone call and organizing the church calendar. How this tiny town managed to have so many support groups and fundraising events still boggled his mind. But she handled it all with an impressive efficiency, and he knew that the day she left would be the day the town found out just how bad he was at this.

They slowly got to know each other better as the days passed, often sharing dinner before she either went home, or to the Sheriff's station for an overnight shift or patrol. Their meals and conversation only made it more obvious that he was unequivocally under her spell.

For her part - he believed that she now thought of him as a friend, as well as a co worker. Her stiff demeanor had relaxed a little, as she eventually realized that even though he was a priest, she could talk to him just the same as anyone else. He hadn’t even flinched when the stray curse word slipped out after she spilled her coffee - which happened fairly frequently.

There was one night in particular that would forever stick out in his mind as the moment he knew he’d gotten himself into trouble. He allowed himself to sink into the memory, recalling how they’d been preparing a simple dinner in the small kitchen attached to their multi-use room, and shared a bottle of wine at his insistence (saying that it’s “Bad Form” to drink alone, and it was a gift from Granny Lucas.)

“She asks me _every_ Sunday what I thought of the wine, Swan. Please don’t make me face her again with nothing to say.” He was outright begging her, pushing his bottom lip out almost comically as he awaited her reply.

“Fine,” she conceded, swiping the bottle from him to open it. “But… wait. Can you even _have_ wine?”

He stifled a laugh while he grabbed two tumblers from the cabinet.

“Aye, why couldn’t I have wine? We have it every Sunday, after all…” He set the glasses down in front of her before hopping up to sit on the kitchen counter.

“No, I mean… well yeah. I guess you do. But I mean like, not in a religious way.” Her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment at her faltering words. She really knew nothing about religion.

“It’s quite alright, Swan. I know what you’re getting at. And no, it’s not against any religious rule for me to drink socially.” He poured them both a healthy amount, before turning back to her, “It’s simply discouraged for us to get… well, you know… sloppy.”

It was only when her eyebrow quirked upward that he realized the phrasing of that could’ve been taken flirtatiously and he immediately brought his hand to the side of his neck, scratching at his ear. It was an adorable nervous habit that made Emma see more of the man behind the collar, the man she was inexplicably attracted to, despite all of the reasons she knew she shouldn’t be.

“Apologies, lass. That came out wrong. I just mean that we’re encouraged to partake in moderation.” He slid off the counter and shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

“It’s fine, Father. Really,” she assured him, and for a brief moment she allowed herself to daydream about seeing him like that - eyes a little hazy, shoulders relaxed, lips stained just a little red from the rich wine. Her eyes fell to those lips, not yet marked with the dark color of the wine, but shining from the recent swipe of his tongue to wet them.

She did the same, her mouth suddenly running dry, her heart rate picking up as she imagined the taste of the tannins on her tongue as she pressed her mouth to his.

“Swan? Are you alright?” The gentle touch of his hand to her shoulder shook her from her indecent thoughts, and she saw genuine concern clouding the usual vibrancy of his blue eyes.

_Good God, get a hold of yourself. The man’s a priest._

That hadn’t stopped her from having incredibly vivid fantasies about him the past several weeks. She’d always found him attractive, and she never would have thought that she’d be into the whole “priest” thing, but the handful of times she saw him without the collar, she found herself missing it.

Something about it just made her tingle in a way that she didn’t want to think about. She found herself struggling with both a crushing feeling of guilt and an overwhelming need for release. In the privacy of her bedroom she couldn’t help but indulge, and as she slid her hand down between her legs she thought only of him. She imagined his hands on her, his lips - the warmth of his skin as he hovered over her.

After she’d allowed her fantasy to play itself out, she laid there - sated and confused. Having these kinds of feelings for a priest was such a… well, a taboo, but there it was nonetheless.

She wanted him. Badly. The man was pure sex - that richly accented voice, the dark hair that was somewhere between brown and black, the scruff at his defined jawline that had just the faintest hint of red to it, the piercing blue of his eyes, his toned chest - even the smattering of chest hair she’d caught one particularly hot day when he’d been forced to not only ditch the collar, but a fair few of his shirt buttons as well.

That was just a week ago, and things had been a little awkward since. She couldn’t help but stare at him, finding herself drifting into daydreams about him, about what she wanted to do to him, about what she wanted him to do to her.

Was it still bad if she didn’t believe in any of it anyway? It’s not like _she_ was Catholic - so maybe she could --

“I’m sorry if this is a bit forward, but you don’t seem OK.” He pulled a chair over and motioned for her to sit before grabbing her a glass of water. “What’s bothering you, Emma? The past week or so, you seem… different.”

He was crouched in front of her so that they remained at eye level. He didn’t often call her by her first name, and something about the way it fell from his lips made her want him even more.

“It’s just…” She started and then stopped herself. She really shouldn’t say this, but with him sitting in front of her like that, blue eyes shining up at her with concern, she wanted nothing more than to admit everything - to pour out all of her feelings and see if he possibly felt the same. She wasn’t sure what she thought it would accomplish - even if he did want her, his position meant that he couldn’t act on it.

Even so, she’d been so… off. Maybe getting this off her chest would help her move on. He was a priest after all, he’d probably heard more shocking confessions.

“I have a confession to make, Father,” she said, noting the way a flash of confusion moved through his features at her sudden interest in Catholic traditions.

His mind reeled for a moment, thrown off balance by her statement. There was something in they way she was looking at him (not as if he were a priest, but as if he was just a man), that made him think her “confession” was to be of a more personal and less religious nature. But then, that was probably wishful thinking on his part - seeing interest where there was none.

“Would you prefer me to hear it here, or in the confessional?” He replied solemnly.

“It’s not… uhm. _Formal._ ” She continued. “Here is fine.”

He nodded to show he understood, and she was free to continue when she was ready. Opting to forgo the traditional format and simply let her speak at her own pace. She picked at her fingernails and her gaze fell to the fidgeting fingers in her lap.

“I’ve been having these... thoughts,” she started uncomfortably. “About someone I know I shouldn’t.”  

He kept his features as still as possible, not wanting her to feel judged by any reaction he may have to what she was saying. The jealous part of him wanted to ask her who she was thinking about, but he tamped down those petty feelings in favor of playing the good Priest, and helping her ease her burden.

“And you find these... thoughts troubling?”

She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair.

“Well, no. Not really. I mean… they’re… _enjoyable_ ?” She offered, trying to avoid coming right out and saying _I’ve been having dreams where you fuck my brains out and it’s the most incredible sex I’ve ever had._

He swallowed thickly. _Enjoyable. So they’re… Oh. Oh God._

Almost immediately an image of her spread out naked on her bed, writhing in her sleep as she moaned his name over and over. It sent a shiver up his spine and he felt himself twitching and hardening as his body appreciated the image. He cleared his throat and attempted to regain his composure.

“Well, these kinds of thoughts are… normal. I don’t know what it is that makes the man… or woman” he added, the thought again threatening to send him into a tailspin. “I don’t know why the person in question is _unavailable_ , as it were, but suffice it to say that so long as you don’t act on the thoughts, or don’t indulge in them any further-”

“It’s you.” She cut him off unceremoniously and his jaw went slack immediately, mouth falling open in shock.

“I’m sorry?” He couldn’t have heard that correctly. Did she just say…

“I’ve been fantasizing about you. I can’t get you out of my head.” She finally admitted. Her chest feeling lighter at the admission already. Maybe the Catholics had something right with these confessions.

“I… ugh…” He had no idea what to say. He couldn’t tell her the truth, that he’d often had similar fantasies about her. That ever since that particular hot day about a week ago, when he’d resorted to unbuttoning his shirt, and she’d stripped down to just her tanktop and jeans - he hadn’t been able to stop touching himself. Despite his vows he was locked up in his room, picturing her a million different ways as he relearned how he liked to be touched.

But something came over him, and he couldn’t help but meet her brazen honesty with some truth of his own. It was a sin to lie, after all.

“I have a confession of my own, lass…” he started, and she smiled brightly at him, hopeful that he was about to admit he hadn’t remained unaffected this entire time.

“I thought priests were the ones who listen to other people’s confessions?” She teased lightly.

“Aye, that we do, but we’re men as well - which means we have plenty to confess ourselves,” he cast his gaze downward.

“Should I go sit in the booth thing?” She teased him, trying to lighten the mood enough for him to feel like he could continue.

“That won’t be necessary.” He chuckled lightly. “Lass… Emma.” He brought his eyes up to hers again and she saw a storm of emotion in them.

“The truth is, I’ve been having similar… experiences,” he took a deep breath, willing himself to continue, feeling the burden lifting from his chest just by saying it out loud. “Ever since the first time I saw you you’ve tested me. At first I thought you were some kind of challenge from God. I haven’t been a priest for more than a few months, and in you walk - the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. And my vow suddenly feels like a prison sentence. I’ve wanted nothing more than to kiss you, to… be with you.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The feeling was mutual. He actually _wanted_ her. She felt triumphant in that moment - like a teenager who just found out the boy she has a crush on likes her back.

“Father...” Emma was still a bit stunned at his honesty, but smiling broadly nonetheless. “But… what does that mean? I mean, we can’t…” her eyes flicked down his collar briefly, before coming back up to his lips.

He was nearly dizzy with need - the way she looked at him made him feel like he was about to go up in flames. And if he acted on these feelings, he definitely would - but eternal flames, not metaphorical.

And yet, with every passing second his resolve was crumbling. She was leaning toward him almost imperceptibly, like they were both incapable of doing anything about it - which actually felt true. The veracity of his feelings for her couldn't be quelled, and there was only one way this was going to end. His desire overtook his every thought, and he finally gave in.

“God, forgive me,” he said brusquely before surging forward to capture her lips in a searing kiss.

She inhaled sharply with surprise, but melted into him just a moment later, opening herself up to him, allowing him to swipe his tongue across her own. They hadn’t had a single drop of the wine, and they both felt drunk already.

He sighed into the kiss, pulling back just a little as he tried to readjust himself. He was still awkwardly crouching in front of her chair, but he didn’t want to move - lest he break the spell they were under.

She noticed him pulling away and she whined. He grinned wolfishly before diving back into the kiss, bringing his hand to cradle the back of her head, gripping her hair there and tugging lightly, urging her to stand as he rose with her.

She took the hint and pressed forward until his back hit the kitchen counter - their hands finally exploring each other’s bodies. His came around her waist, tracing her gentle curves downward before reaching down to give her rear end a harsh squeeze.

She whimpered and rolled her hips into him, his prominent bulge pressing insistently into her stomach. Her hands worked their way down his chest and in between them as she cupped him through his trousers.

His eyes snapped shut and he hissed at the contact, the pressure of her small hand nearly enough to do him in even through the fabric. He took several deep breaths to steady himself as she stroked experimentally before opening his eyes again, locking gazes with her.

He looked positively wrecked already, but there was a strength and determination in his features that showed he wasn’t going to let this end any time soon. He stepped away momentarily, striding quickly across the room to flip the bolt to lock the door to the kitchen before turning back to her, eyes darkened with lust.

He looked predatory - like we was going to devour her, and she was going to let him.

In a moment his lips were on hers again, then moving down to her neck, nibbling and sucking as his hands gripped her waist possessively. She smelled of vanilla and cinnamon, and he wanted to buy a million candles with that exact same scent so he wouldn’t ever have to go another moment without it.

She snaked her hands down between them, fumbling with his belt buckle momentarily before yanking it harshly through the loops of his pants, pulling his hips forward with the force. He groaned at her apparent enthusiasm - she was already killing him and they’d barely touched each other.

Despite her fondness for the collar, she needed to see all of him - so she kissed him hard, and pulled the stiff collar from his neck, tossing it to the floor before starting to undo the buttons of his dress shirt.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to watch her nimble fingers work the buttons - savoring the the way she lightly brushed his chest as she worked downward. Watching her undress him like this was the most exquisite form of torture. He had to force himself to focus on the moment - take in every detail of every movement. The most beautiful woman in the world was looking up at him through her lashes, impatiently unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it from his shoulders - moving on to his pants.

“Bloody hell” he gasped as she pulled his pants down to his knees, bending down and pressing kisses along the dark trail of hair that went from his belly button down to the elastic of his briefs - where his erection was straining against the dark fabric.

She smirked up at him and urged his foot up to pull the material off one leg at a time, and then he was standing there, mostly naked under her gaze - awaiting her appraisal of him.

“It would be such a shame to let all of _this_ ” she stroked his length as she spoke and he sighed at the much needed pressure she was applying, even rutting lightly into her touch, “go to waste. After all, it does seem like you’re quite _blessed_ , Father.”

He gulped at her words but couldn’t form any kind of response except to keep panting huskily in her ear while she slipped her hand down under the material to run her fingers over his heated skin. He groaned loudly and let his head fall back as she explored him.

She tugged roughly on his briefs, bringing them to the floor alongside the rest of his discarded clothing, his cock springing free now that the material wasn’t holding it back. It bobbed teasingly close to her face as she knelt down to rid him of the final offending piece of clothing. She looked up at him from her knees, his cock still in her hand while she licked her lips - making a show of it by dragging her tongue as slowly as she could.

He felt a shudder wrack his body - she was impossibly gorgeous, and he fully expected to wake up from what must be the most glorious dream he’d ever had.

“Emma, let me see you…” he croaked, suddenly aware of the fact that he was completely bare before her, and she was still wearing her jeans and tank top.

She hadn’t noticed the disparity in their state of undress until that very moment. Chuckling to herself that she’d gotten so carried away with finally seeing him, finally feeling his taut muscles under her hands. She supposed she could make it up to him by giving him a bit of a show.

She stepped back, giving him a better view, and then she brushed her hair behind her shoulders, swaying her hips slightly with the movement. She teased at the hem of her tank top, fingers rolling over the fabric and bringing it up ever-so-slowly, revealing her skin inch by beautiful inch until she pulled her arms skyward, peeling the fabric off and letting it dangle from her raised hand before dropping it to the floor.

He looked absolutely stunned at the display, and his cock hardened further as she moved and undressed for him. He felt voyeuristic, as if he wasn’t meant to be watching her - even though this little show was meant for him.

She rolled her hips and brought a hand to her chest, palming herself over her simple tan cotton bra, she moaned at her own touch before reaching a hand back to expertly undo the snaps, discarding the material in much the same way as she did her shirt just moments ago. Her nipples formed hardened peaks under her touch, and before he could even realize what he was doing he’d licked a thick stripe up his palm and brought his hand down to work over himself and relieve some of the tension she was building.

Her pupils grew wide as she saw him unable to go another second without relieving the ache she was building within him, and if she was being honest, her own patience was wearing thin - so she popped the button on her jeans and slid the zipper down, quickly pulling both the pants and her panties off at the same time before kicking them aside.

“Emma…” he said breathily, “so beautiful. Come here, love.”

She stepped toward him and he brought his hands up to her breasts, cupping them and testing their weight in his hands before experimentally rolling her stiffened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She keened and reached down to rub at his length.

“Need you,” she said, simply.

“Aye, love.” He kissed her again, but pulled back just a few moments later. “But there’s something… As much as I’d…”

He fumbled, unable to find the words he needed to say. She said his name, and gripped the sides of his face lightly to steady him, to reassure him.

“What is it, Killian?”

His heart skipped a beat at her use of his given name. He scratched behind his ear bashfully.

“As much as I’d love to continue this, I’m a priest, love. I don’t have… uhm. Protection?” The embarrassment of the moment was written all over his face.

“No need.” She replied matter of factly. “I’m on the pill. And considering your… profession, I don’t really need to worry about catching anything, right? I mean, unless you do this kind of thing often?” She teased him, knowing the answer already.

“Of course not, love. But… are you sure?” His tone was deadly serious, and her heart leapt at his concern.

“Yes. I want you. I want this.” She reassured him.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve dreamed of hearing you say that.” He ran his hand along her side again, as they stood there - completely naked in the middle of the kitchen as if there was nothing wrong with what they were doing, with what they were about to do.

He reached behind her to open up a nearby cabinet, pulling out a picnic blanket, laying it out on the floor before coming back to kiss her again, a new ferocity in his movements as he urged her to lay back. She complied, allowing him to stalk over her, her legs falling open to allow him between them.

He could kiss her forever, not just the incredible feeling of their tongues colliding, but feeling her creamy skin under his lips - her long and elegant neck, a few scant freckles on her shoulder, the rosy nipples standing at attention, her tight flat stomach, the flare of her hip, the inside of her thigh.  She was squirming now, desperate for him to touch her where she needed him most. And yet his kisses never quite made it there.

“Killian, please” she whined down at him. He grinned up at her before dipping his head down to press a gentle kiss to her sensitive bundle of nerves. She moaned in pleasure as he replaced his lips with his thumb rubbing feather light circles on her while allowing his tongue to move further down - lapping at her core.

She writhed beneath him and her breathing turned shallow as he tasted her, and her hips started rolling into his mouth of their own accord before she realized that wasn’t what she wanted. She reached down to grab a handful of his dark hair, tugging at it to pull his lips from her.

He blinked up at her, eyes darkened by lust, hair tousled from the way she’d been running her hands through it, lips glistening with the evidence of her arousal. At the feeling of her pulling him upward he’d been terrified that he’d disappointed her - that his years of inactivity had divested him of his skills as a lover. But once he’d caught the look in her eye, all the uncertainty flew away.

“I want you inside me.” She said bluntly, as she pulled at his hair again, trying to urge him upward.

“Emma, darling. Are you absolutely certain?” He had to check one more time, just to be sure.

She nodded her head impatiently.

“Now.”

He couldn’t deny her anything, especially this. This was something he’d wanted since the first moment he’d laid eyes on her.

“As you wish.” He replied, working gentle kisses back up her body as he settled between her legs. He kissed her again, letting weight rest on his forearm while he dragged himself through her soaking folds, gathering the wetness there and setting himself up at her entrance.

He pressed his hips forward slightly, relishing the feeling of sinking into her, of claiming her as his own - even just this once. They both held their breath as he continued to press into her for what felt like an eternity - he was stretching her deliciously by the time he finally bottomed out, the feeling of himself being entirely sheathed within her was like nothing he could have possibly imagined. She was wrapped around him so tightly he could hardly move for fear of it all being over in an instant.

He was shaking with the effort of keeping still, of calming himself, while she adjusted to his size - but when she moaned and rolled her hips, his resolve crumbled.

“Hold on tight, lass” he warned her, “I don’t think I can be gentle. It’s been too long…”

She gripped his shoulder and rolled her hips again, “Who said I wanted you to be gentle?”

He growled at that, and finally let himself have what he’d wanted (what _they_ had wanted) for so long. He thrust into her, drowning in the decadent feeling of his cock dragging along her walls. She was keening beneath him, meeting his every move as they fell into a perfect rhythm.

Her head swam as she got lost in the sensations - he gripped her hip harshly as he rutted into her over and over, and she would swear that he was going to leave finger-shaped bruises, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Every pump of his hips was bringing her closer and closer to the edge, and with all of their teasing - they both found themselves there embarrassingly fast.

“Oh my God, Killian,” she cried out on a particularly hard thrust, as the belled tip of him found that hidden spot within her that had her seeing stars. “Right there! So close…”

He grit his teeth and kept his pace, determined to send her into a blissful oblivion with him. He was seconds away himself and he wasn’t about to let her down. She dipped her hand between them, fingers working furiously fast over her clit.

“That’s it love, let go,” he urged her. “I want to feel you squeeze me as you come around my cock.”

The sound of him whispering such utterly filthy things to her is what sent her hurtling over that edge. She cried out his name over and over as every muscle in her body tensed with immense pleasure, wave after wave of it coursing through her as she spasmed around him.

The feeling of her walls gripping him as she fell headlong into her orgasm was a dream come true - better than any fantasy he could ever have. She was writing in blissful agony, her head thrown back, face and chest tinged pink with exertion. He was awash in the miraculous beauty of her, and he thrust into her wildly as he chased his own release.

“Emma, I’m gonna -” His breath was shallow and stuttered and his eyes screwed shut, jaw tense as he reached his peak.

He snapped his hips into her three more times before burying himself as deeply as he could, a sharp yelp accompanying his final thrust as the dam finally burst - his orgasm overtaking him as he pulsed jet after jet of his release inside of her.  

It took every ounce of strength he had to not simply collapse on top of her. The force of his orgasm left him weak and shaky. He kissed her languidly one more time before slipping out of her and rolling to the side, breathing deeply to try to steady his hammering heart.

“That was…” he exhaled slowly, trying to find the words.

“Just the beginning,” Emma finished his thought for him.

“Aye, lass. Just the beginning.” He reached down and interlaced his fingers with hers, and even though he had no idea how this was going to work, he knew there was no future for him without her in it.  


End file.
